


each silvery star fades out of sight

by keithsforeheadtattoo



Category: Ripley Series - Patricia Highsmith, Talented Mr Ripley (1999)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 12:10:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keithsforeheadtattoo/pseuds/keithsforeheadtattoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he used to communicate by records, sometimes. they'd fight in the morning and she'd walk in that afternoon to a crooning nick lucas number begging her forgiveness from dickie's antique victor orthophonic. that's what she misses most, in her silent american apartment filled with cat hair and cabernet francs; someone to fight with and something to listen to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	each silvery star fades out of sight

there's just as much shitty music on italian radio waves as there is on american ones, but maybe it's hearing the words of every mindless poppy tune in her native english that leaves marge repulsed by the radio dial. or maybe, she begins to think later, it's the regular tempos. 

the states in general have been bittered for her before her feet even touch ground at the airport. maybe he'd infected her with it. maybe, she tries to laugh about, a haughty distaste for americans could be sexually transmitted. instead the thought makes her feel sick with emptiness.

he used to communicate by records, sometimes. they'd fight in the morning and she'd walk in that afternoon to a crooning nick lucas number begging her forgiveness from dickie's antique victor orthophonic. that's what she misses most, in her silent american apartment filled with cat hair and cabernet francs; someone to fight with and something to listen to.

emily's dead and richard senior writes her letters, sometimes, with or without inexplicable cash but always reeking of loneliness. marge takes to ripping them up after a few months, but never replying. eventually she just lets the mailbox fill. the only other thing she'd received in her whole first year back home had been a wedding invitation that had ignited some acidic rush of memory in her; she'd always dreamed when she came back to the states it would be --

_different._

she looks at her own perpetually ringless finger and makes herself think _different_ instead of the vast list of things she'd once thought would've fallen into place by now.


End file.
